


First

by Dee_Moyza



Category: Final Fantasy VIII
Genre: Gen, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-24
Updated: 2019-11-24
Packaged: 2021-02-26 06:20:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,178
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21538891
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dee_Moyza/pseuds/Dee_Moyza
Summary: On the eve of his nineteenth birthday, Irvine ponders his future.  Post-game, one-shot.
Relationships: Irvine Kinneas & Selphie Tilmitt
Kudos: 6





	First

_(Disclaimer: As a work of fanfiction, the creation of this piece does not imply ownership of the Final Fantasy franchise, its characters, or any affiliated intellectual property.)_

* * *

In the back of his mind, Irvine registered a knocking sound. Fists pounding on a door, punctuated by a swift kick. He groaned and burrowed deeper beneath his blanket, unwilling to rise and lose the body heat he'd finally managed to generate.

It was Selphie's voice that roused him to full alertness. The sweetest sound to wake to, in his opinion, even if it was hurling orders at him.

"Come on, Irvy, get up!" Selphie shouted from the other side of the door. "You're gonna be late again!"

"Just another minute," he called back.

"You don't _have_ another minute! You're gonna be late and get assigned cleaning duty again."

"It wasn't so bad." Nevertheless, Irvine wrapped himself in his blanket and shuffled to the door. He opened it to find Selphie glaring at him, and he winked. "Won't be a moment, darlin'."

"Don't 'darlin'' me," she continued when he closed the door again. "I don't decide your workload. Maybe you should try your charm on the foreman, instead."

"Maybe I will," Irvine said, fishing for his clothes and glancing at the clock on the nightstand. 7:43. Not that the sky outside the window would confirm it. Late November in Trabia Garden meant darkness, around the clock. Sure, the sun came up, _somewhere_ , but it didn't rise over the mountains surrounding the Garden, didn't spare a degree of warmth. He wondered how Selphie handled it, how she hadn't gone crazy living here.

Then again …

"Are you decent yet?" Selphie called through the door.

"Close enough."

With an huff, Selphie let herself in, gathering Irvine's hat and tool bag and waiting for him to put on his coat.

"Hey, Sefie," he said, wrapping a scarf around his head and tying it beneath his chin, "how did you live like this for so long, in the dark?"

"You stick to your schedule." She adjusted the tool belt around her waist. "Go by the clocks and calendars. You don't stop living just 'cause the sun's being fickle."

"Yeah, but don't you get depressed, with no light and all?"

"Nope. You've gotta be your own light! Your own warmth, your own sun." Selphie stood on tiptoe and slapped Irvine's hat on his head, then shoved his tool bag into his arms. "It's really not that big of a deal, Irvy. Galbadia and Balamb have just spoiled you. Now, come _on_!" 

He followed her down the dormitory hallway, yawning and rubbing his eyes. A violent shiver ran through his body when they left the relative shelter of the hallway and a blast of cold wind greeted them. Wincing in the glow of floodlights, he fumbled for his earplugs to dampen the roar of an enormous generator, and continued toward the construction site.

It had been about a year and a half since Trabia Garden had been destroyed by missiles, and reconstruction was still ongoing. Though the Trabians had initially resisted outside help, they realized, after months of little progress, that finishing the job, and doing so correctly, trumped their pride. Nevertheless, they refused to accept charity, and paid hired workers and volunteers alike in whatever form they could afford: money, food, lodging. And, like Selphie, they jumped in to help wherever possible, learning the necessary skills and strengthening their community as they worked, reaffirming their identities as Trabians and their self-sufficiency.

It was truly a collaborative effort, a tiny, impromptu society built on hard work, cooperation, and tenacity.

It was also the last place anyone expected to find Irvine Kinneas, lone wolf, ladies' man. When he'd answered the call for volunteers at Balamb Garden, even Squall couldn't hide his surprise.

"You do know there's work involved, right?" he asked.

"Of course," Irvine replied.

"Using tools and heavy machinery."

Irvine laughed. "How else are they gonna repair it? With hammers and nails?"

Squall didn't even crack a grin. "I thought that wasn't your department."

"It's not. But, I figure, why not make it one? It's time I stopped limiting myself to what I already know. It's time to grow a little, branch out. Ladies like a well-rounded man."

"This is about Selphie, isn't it?"

Irvine flinched, then tipped his hat over his face to hide his blush. "Sefie's cool," he said nonchalantly, "but just think of how impressed all the cuties back in Deling will be when I say I rebuilt Trabia Garden!"

"Whatever. So, have you told Cid yet?"

"Why should I tell him? I'm not a student here."

"He might have something to say about it."

Irvine groaned. Cid always had something to say, these days, it seemed. And that "something" usually involved the SeeD exam. As soon as Irvine had turned eighteen, Cid began pressuring him, reminding him that time was running out. Now, with his nineteenth birthday on the horizon, the reminders came almost daily, in person and via email. Cid offered to expedite Irvine's coursework, offered to proctor the written exam himself, if only Irvine would commit to becoming a SeeD. 

"If not," Cid had warned, his tone grave and ominous, "I am afraid you will have to leave Garden soon."

"Fine by me," Irvine answered with a shrug.

"You'll be on your own."

"Been so, more or less, for years. I'll be all right."

"You will no longer be able to rely on Garden's services and protection."

"Hey, don't worry about me. I learn best on my feet, anyway!"

And he _was_ learning. Learning how to identify and properly use different tools, learning the amount of planning and detail that went into a single structure, learning to work with others, contributing his strength to a human machine, one determined to raise a home from the ashes, for the memory of those lost, and for the future of those who remained.

Cid had been strangely delighted when Irvine told him his plans, wondering aloud how many Garden credits Irvine might be able to exchange the experience for. Irvine let him talk, let him scheme, let his words drift in one ear and out the other. He wasn't doing this for credit; he was doing it, as Squall had guessed, for Selphie. If she needed help, he would be there, wherever "there" was. It had been that way since they were at the orphanage, and it would be that way forever, whether or not she ever saw him as more than a friend.

Because that's what he'd been first and foremost: a friend. And nothing would ever change that.

Not even the cold that ripped through every layer he wore and froze his fingers as he worked. His teeth chattered and his muscles ached from repressed shivers, and come break time, he sprinted toward one of the large heaters to thaw out. Fifteen minutes and a hot cup of coffee later, he braved the elements once more, repeating the process several times before retiring to the makeshift cafeteria, and, finally, his dorm room.

Selphie would stop by to check on him throughout the day, before flitting off to her next task like some little snow fairy, bright and lithe in her long pants and light coat. Irvine looked forward to those moments, and to sharing a meal with her and her friends. But when ten o'clock came around and dorm room lights switched off, an unnerving stillness settled on the Garden. It was pervasive, suffocating, and not even the sound of the generators could drive it away. It was as if the world around him had ceased to move, ceased to breathe, and was lying low, waiting, dreading. Playing dead.

Irvine hummed, softly, and pulled his blanket tighter around himself, trying to generate enough heat to sleep comfortably. Most nights, it worked; most nights, he hummed himself to sleep, unaware of slipping into dreams until he was roused from them the next morning. 

Most nights, he was fine.

But not tonight.

Tonight, the silence seemed to seep into him, obliterating all sound save for his heartbeat in his ears, and Cid's voice rattling through his brain.

_You're running out of time, Mr. Kinneas. You'll have to decide. … Garden's services and protection … have to leave … be on your own …_

Irvine clapped his hands over his ears and hummed louder, but he couldn't ignore the dread settling in his heart. He'd been so flippant with Cid, partly because he couldn't stand the regimentation and rules of Garden, but also partly because the future Cid warned him about had seemed so far away. Nineteen was eons from now, a strange, mythical age that only other people reached. There was a whole year of living between eighteen and then. 

A whole year that went by too fast.

He looked at the clock on the nightstand, sweat gathering on his brow despite the cold. 23:02. A normal night, like any other. But a glance at the drab daily calendar propped next to the clock reminded him it wasn't: November 23.

23:02, November 23.

_You'll have to decide._

Irvine drove away the thoughts with an exasperated groan, and sat up. There was no way he was going to get any sleep tonight. He looked around his darkened dorm room, but found nothing to catch his attention, to distract him from the admonitions looping in his mind. In fact, the walls seemed to close in on him, creeping closer with each breath. His restless legs twitched beneath his blanket, and he gave in to the desire to run. 

Bundled up against the cold, Irvine slunk down the hallway and across the campus, moving in the shadows until he reached the front gate. He had intended to stop there and return to bed, until he noticed several pallets stacked up against the fence, and a length of sturdy netting thrown over it. 

So, someone else had decided on a late-night excursion. How incredibly convenient.

Irvine landed in the snow with a grunt, then began walking away from Garden, in whatever direction he happened to be facing, stretching his limbs and inhaling deeply. The air was cold enough to sting his nostrils, but it also smelled cleaner, purer than that inside Garden. It smelled _free_.

The air out here – the entire wilderness, in fact – was not constrained by deadlines and obligations. Nobody asked the wind to decide on a direction to blow, or the predators to commit to one hunting ground. Out here, life was not planned; it was _lived_ , plain and simple, in reaction to the changes in the atmosphere and the seasons, to the growth and the drives nature provided. 

As it should be.

But he wasn't part of the wilderness, Irvine realized with dismay, when the old concerns resurfaced in his mind. He was very much a social creature, in that he needed people to talk to, to provide goods and services to him. He needed a place to live, and a goal to work towards. He needed – it killed him to admit – structure to his life, although he reclaimed some pride by comparing his structural needs to that of a lean-to rather than a mansion.

He never would have classified his early life as easy, but now, he understood that it had been, in the sense that his path had been very narrow. At each critical juncture, he'd only had one or two options, making choice relatively simple. Not to mention, there always remained the possibility of change, the chance that whatever he decided in a given moment would not engrave his future in stone.

But his current predicament was different. Irvine could stay on the easy route, take a few classes and an exam, become a SeeD and remain with his friends. But after that? A SeeD until he retired or died, whichever came first. No more change, no more possibilities. He could see the road behind that decision, and it was straight and narrow and smooth. Boring.

If, on the other hand, he rejected Cid's offer, he faced a level of uncertainty he'd never dealt with. He'd always had, at the very least, a roof over his head, a bed to sleep in, meals to keep him full. Leaving Garden would mean the end of that, at least without hard work. How would he take care of himself? _Could_ he, to begin with? Where would he live, where would he work? What practical skills did he possess, aside from accurately hitting a target at long distances? How much did food cost? Rent? Utilities? The path that that lay behind this choice varied in width and slope and terrain, with hundreds of little branching routes, all of them running through shadows and foggy valleys, offering very few clues to where they ultimately led.

He thought he'd decided, long ago. But, as the minutes ticked down to his nineteenth birthday, the choices became too real, too _permanent._ Anxiety swelled in his chest, fear arced along his nerves, and he did what he'd always done when confronted with trouble: he ran.

He ran for what felt like half an hour, but was, in reality, likely no more than a few minutes. His lungs burned from the cold air, and his legs ached from work. He stopped by a tall tree and turned around to gauge his distance, but what he saw before him made him gasp and smile, instead. 

The moon was not quite full, but it was large enough to cast a silver light over everything, and sparkled across the snow. Irvine's footprints became miniature canyons in this strange new place, evidence of a trek through a desert of stardust. The world seemed enchanted, and, for a moment, Irvine's worries faded away. He leaned against the trunk and welcomed the sense of peace, surveying the scene in front of him with a mixture of awe and satisfaction, giving way to curiosity as he spied a figure nearby.

It was a small figure, traipsing across the snow, hardly touching it. It jogged a distance, then skipped, and twirled around beneath the stars before flopping to the ground and spreading its arms and legs to make a snow angel. And that was when Irvine recognized it. 

Selphie.

What was she doing up? Had she been the one who stacked the pallets by the gate? What was she doing out here, all alone? Didn't she know it was dangerous? Irvine shook his head, a new set of concerns dispelling the enchantment of his surroundings, and approached Selphie.

"What are you doing out here?" he asked when he reached her. 

"Stargazing," she replied, strangely unsurprised to see him. "You?"

"Couldn't sleep. Hey, Sefie, why'd you come out on your own? It's dangerous."

Selphie laughed and sat up. "Dangerous? _Please._ I grew up here; I know this place like the back of my hand."

"Yeah, but the cold."

"I handle it better than you."

"The animals."

"Ooh, a Bite Bug. _Scary._ "

"And Mesmerizes, and Gaylas, and –"

"Nothing that's hunting _me._ Calm down, Irvy. I thought you were supposed to be tough."

"I am. Just worried about _you_ , that's all."

"I can take care of myself. You should know that by now." She slid aside and patted the ground next to her. Irvine sat down. "So, what are _you_ doing out so late? Don't tell me you've arranged a rendezvous. Where is she?"

"What?" Irvine's face grew hot. "No, of course not! Nothing like that!"

"What is it, then? What's kept the champion sleeper from catching some shut-eye?"

"Thinking."

"'Bout what?"

"Oh … things. Decisions and responsibilities. How every choice seems loaded now." He shrugged. "Thinkin' about getting older. You do, too, don't you?"

Selphie's smile faded, and she stared straight ahead, into the darkness. "Sometimes," she said, quietly. "And then I remember the people who won't. Getting older is a privilege, one we shouldn’t waste, even if it's scary. We should use it to honor our memories, and make new ones." She blinked rapidly, then tried to grin. "You see? It's an adventure!"

Irvine looked down and traced a pattern in the snow with his fingertip. What could he say to that? Selphie had just taken every worry he'd had and placed it into perspective. His anguish over whether or not to become a SeeD seemed incredibly trivial now.

"But we can't help worrying, either," Selphie said, picking up on Irvine's discomfort. She rose and dusted the snow from her pants. "That's just a part of life. Though _some_ of us are becoming full-on fuddy-duddies in our old age!"

"Hey, just lookin' out for my best friend!" Irvine stood, too, and gazed into the same darkness Selphie had. Whatever choices, whatever consequences lay before him, he would meet them head-on. After all, it was his privilege.

"I wonder how late it is," Selphie said, peering at her watch in the moonlight. She pressed a button on it and illuminated its face, and hers. "Wow, after midnight, already! Guess I'd better head back." She took a few steps in the direction of Garden, then, without warning, ran back toward Irvine and hugged him from behind, forcing the air from his lungs and a yelp from his throat. "Happy birthday, Irvy!"

Irvine laughed. "Thanks a bunch, Sefie!"

"Ha! I'm first this year!"

"You're always first." Irvine glanced down at her arms wrapped around his torso. "Always have been, always will," he added, under his breath.

Selphie must have heard, because she released him and stepped back. He turned around to find her staring at him, wide-eyed, the color in her cheeks evident even in the moonlight. Irvine mentally berated himself for letting the remark slip, and didn't venture to say anything further, lest he drive her away completely.

It was only a few seconds, but it felt like an eternity. Finally, Selphie blinked several times, a goofy grin spreading across her face. "Well, yeah," she said, laughing awkwardly, "of course! I'm awesome." Collecting herself, she began to count her accomplishments on her fingers. "First one at the orphanage to sneak into the lighthouse, first one at Trabia Garden with my Limit Break, first non-Estharian to fly the Ragnarok, and … oh, yeah, first successful festival chairperson at Balamb Garden!"

Irvine relaxed as she went on, smiling and nodding at each triumph she listed.

"And," she continued, turning back toward Trabia Garden, "I bet I'll be the first back to Garden. Race ya!"

Laughing, she started running, and Irvine set off after her. She stopped halfway back to scoop up some snow and hurl it at him, and he retaliated with a snowball delivered squarely to her back. 

"You might be fast, but I'm a deadeye," he called after her, letting his worries melt away in the warmth of her smile. She was the first person in his heart, and she always would be, no matter how they defined their relationship. And he knew that, whatever choices he made in the future, she would remain a constant in his life, a sun of her own making.


End file.
